"Robert Charles Wilson - Julian- A Christmas Story" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilson Robert Charles)

I thought about it. "Maybe," I said. "There's a room behind the stage where the religious equipment is
stored. You can enter it from the wings. We could hide there, but it has no door of its own."

"It'll have to do. If we can get there without attracting attention."

But that was not too difficult, for the torchieres had not all been re-lit, much of the hall was still in
shadow, and the audience was milling about a bit, and stretching, while the Campaigners prepared to
record the vote that was to followтАФthey were meticulous accountants even though the final tally was a
foregone conclusion and the ballrooms were already booked for Deklan Conqueror's latest inauguration.
Julian and I shuffled from one shadow to another, giving no appearance of haste, until we were close to
the foot of the stage; there we paused at an entrance to the storage room, until a goonish Reserve man
who had been eyeing us was called away by a superior officer to help dismantle the projecting
equipment. We ducked through the curtained door into near-absolute darkness. Julian stumbled over
some obstruction (a piece of the church's tack piano, which had been disassembled for cleaning in 2165
by a traveling piano-mechanic, who had died of a stroke before finishing the job), the result being a
woody "clang!" that seemed loud enough to alert the whole occupancy of the church, but evidently didn't.

What little light there was came through a high glazed window that was hinged so that it could be
opened in summer for purposes of ventilation. It was a weak sort of illumination, for the night was cloudy,
and only the torches along the main street were shining. But it registered as our eyes adjusted to the
dimness. "Perhaps we can get out that way," Julian said.

"Not without a ladder. AlthoughтАФ"

"What? Speak up, Adam, if you have an idea."

"This is where they store the risersтАФthe long wooden blocks the choir stands on when they're racked
up for a performance. Perhaps thoseтАФ"

But he was already examining the shadowy contents of the storage room, as intently as he had
surveyed the Tip for ancient books. We found the likely suspects, and managed to stack them to a useful
height without causing too much noise. (In the church hall, the Campaigners had already registered a
unanimous vote for Deklan Comstock and had begun to break the news about the conscription drive.
Some few voices were raised in futile objection; Ben Kreel was calling loudly for calmтАФno one heard us
rearranging the unused furniture.)
The window was at least ten feet high, and almost too narrow to crawl through, and when we
emerged on the other side we had to hang by our fingertips before dropping to the ground. I bent my
right ankle awkwardly as I landed, though no lasting harm was done.

The night, already cold, had turned colder. We were near the hitching posts, and the horses whinnied
at our surprising arrival and blew steam from their gaping nostrils. A fine, gritty snow had begun to fall.
There was not much wind, however, and Christmas banners hung limply in the frigid air.

Julian made straight for his horse and loosed its reins from the post. "What are we going to do?" I
asked.

"You, Adam, will do nothing but protect your own existence as best you know how; while IтАФ"

But he balked at pronouncing his plans, and a shadow of anxiety passed over his face. Events were